Where the Nightingale Sings
by Belladonna1
Summary: Each soul has one passion - one passion that defies all and benefits none. One passion worth the bitterness of damnation.


Well here we go again – I've been itching for a while to do a Potter fanfic – but the ship I've chosen already has some fantastic mistresses – Davesmom, and LadyRhiyana being among them – the latter's idea of Clan Malfoy is unbeatable. Chapeau!

The old disclaimer applies – and I hope there will be a few souls out there who can enjoy this tale.

The Beginning:

For two years he'd held his breath in the shadows, leaving no wake in the darkness that embraced him as a god. Behind an impenetrable wall of grey ice, he'd forged the rules of his kingdom from the icicle points of a cold that burned hotter than flame. He'd seized the leadership of his house as if it had been his devil-given right - and none questioned him. No, none dared question him.  
  
He heard her laugh before he saw her; a bewildering bubbling laugh that was pulled from the depths of her frame laying out every emotion, hanging them like laundry on a clothesline for all to see. He could see her happiness. He could see her love. And whenever she saw him he could close his eyes and still feel her hate.  
  
He remembered the first time he noticed her – he remembered the sudden spasm of rage that had seized him – that had made him want to turn her inside out and make her bleed - stain red that helpless innocence that choked him. That innocence had never belonged in his world - had never existed. Had it been jealousy he mused? If so how galling – how bitter that his world wasn't good enough.

She was pulling at her friend's sleeve – pushing her out and laughing all the while, she needed to do work she said plaintively, eyes pleading. The door closed with a soft click and she leaned against it, letting out a sigh. No one now – Pince had left a few moments earlier. But she'd known that already. He watched, amused as she worked her way to the back of the library. __

She'd changed after first year. One day at breakfast he saw the shadows in her eyes- shadows her brother didn't share. No one knew better than him the empty pain in the bite of memories past. And so he waited gleefully for the cynicism and bitterness to claim her - their changeling child. It took several years to realize that he hadn't been watching her for that reason.  
  
She had come closer to where he was, but she couldn't see him, only Slytherins saw that well in the dark. He watched as she searched for the book he held in his hands, her brow furrowed slightly as she worried her lip. His eyes lingered on her hair.  
  
The only point of flame in his realm of sculpted ice. She was far too dangerous to entertain any longer than was...necessary. He had bent himself toward destroying her - toward destroying the part of her in him. She had no place in his world, which had been fashioned solely from the schemings of its soulless denizens. He refused to allow her existence.  
  
Her tongue darted out and briefly curled over her top and bottom lip in quick succession. He could see the thoughts cross her too open eyes as she searched disbelievingly for the book - which should have been there. He let out a little laugh, and she turned sharply to face him - her eyes searching the gloom.  
  
"Malfoy," she said.  
  
A poisonous abscess needed to be excised from the host lest it destroy it. But what if, somehow along the way, the abscess had become inextricably tied to the host? So much so that perhaps the abscess had become necessary…  
  
A smile flitted across his lips and he could feel the sharp spike of adrenaline surge through his body as he sent the book softly spinning through the air toward her. It levitated for a few beats before she clutched it, her knuckles white along the spine.  
  
"Weasley" he said, soft insinuation in his voice as he stepped out toward her.  
Her eyes dropped briefly to his hands, and then flickered up to his face.  
Fear. Anger. Desire. Oh yes, desire.

His smile grew wider as he made up his mind - it had been so long since he'd had a challenge. A real challenge.  
  
"You shouldn't be reading such dangerous things," he said feathering his fingers lightly over hers in a little dance.  
She said nothing - just looked at him with wide saucer eyes. What did he know? – he saw the thought etched across her stricken features.  
  
He leaned in close until he could feel her breath in soft tremulous puffs across his face, "Tell me Weasley" he said wickedness dousing his eyes, "how good are you at games?"


End file.
